According to Osho, the 'pain' of separation from the Divine is a tender, delicious ache—like a slight inner soreness—that the devotional heart cherishes, because it keeps love alive and the Beloved near. Yet on Mahavira’s path it is still desire and must be relinquished; true freedom comes when even this longing dissolves into silent meditation without search.
It’s a sweet hurt of missing God that lovers of God value, while another path says to gently let even that longing melt into quiet.
From the Discourses
Passages where Osho speaks to this question — each links to the complete discourse.
Osho, the pain of separation, the pain of separation from the Lord, cannot be borne.
In one town where I was visiting, a riot broke out because college boys staged a play—an “Modern Ramleela.” There was trouble because the village priests and the orthodox were enraged: Rama, Lakshmana, and Mother Sita in modern dress! Mother Sita in high-heeled shoes! A fracas ensued. It was their jest, but the foolish are countless; in this country, count one and you’ll find a thousand. Chairs were smashed, stage curtains torn, the boys beaten—“Mother Sita and high heels!” Yet the satire was dear and meaningful. Everything is changing—do you think the ever-new God will not be new? And remember: Rama, Krishna, Buddha are experiences of God. These persons knew the Divine. They are windows through which the sky was seen. But do not sit worshiping the window frame, or you will forget the sky and clutch only the frame. Look at the sky! The window is not the sky;…
Osho, is it necessary to pass through the state of separation for union with the Divine?
I wrote and sent countless letters, still, cruel one, you did not come. The desolate garden’s days rolled by, dark monsoon clouds kept gathering; the henna beds breathed fragrance, the thresholds rang with birdsong, the neem in the courtyard flowered, the mango grove at home bloomed. Everything spoke—only you were silent; I sat alone, my heart caged. Laughter lost, joy lost, sleep was sold, peace squandered. At whose temple shall I wave the lamp? At whose door shall I surrender? To whom shall I send my silent messages, to whom my tender invitation? I wrote and sent countless letters, none ever returned to me. All came—only you did not; why this cruel spell upon me? Such intense longing took hold, such efforts did it compel. The threshold fell hush and mute, the latch kept clicking, waiting; the clouds swayed low and bowed, the rains held back, still waiting. Whenever your…
Osho, in the state of separation (viraha), is the devotee miserable or happy?
And there is delight in it. There is delight even in weeping! For the first time crying does not seem the opposite of joy. This is the secret that unfolds in the state of separation. For the first time one feels a harmony between tears and smiles. Tears themselves seem to smile; tears themselves seem to dance. Ordinarily we have known tears only for sorrow; the devotee comes to know the tears of joy. The pang does sting, yes—but within the pang is a sweetness, a honeyed savor. Call it a sweet pain—honey-drenched, intoxicating. The arrow of separation pierces the heart, and a stream of nectar flows. This happens together. I have tasted such rapture that even feeling it became difficult; as your pain kept dwelling in my heart, it itself became my heart. At first, life in love was impossible; now the end is such that even dying has…
Question: Last question: Osho, what is viraha? On the path of devotion, viraha is half the journey and union the remaining half. There are only two steps in devotion—viraha and union. First viraha, then union. Only the one who longs in separation will arrive. Viraha means I do not know who I am. Viraha means I do not know where the Divine is, where it is hiding. Viraha means I do not find the meaning of my life. Viraha means tears upon tears are spread over my soul; I am crying, I am calling; no way is seen, there is darkness; I grope, I wander; I fall, I rise. Viraha is thirst. Viraha is yearning. There is something that is not being revealed—and if it were to be revealed, life would find meaning, harmony would come into life, music would arise.
Osho, please say something about viraha—the ache of separation.
Nothing can really be said about viraha; it can only be experienced. For viraha does not come in words—it comes in tears. Viraha does not speak; it is silence, it is mute. Viraha weeps, viraha keeps vigil; it does not talk. Nothing can be said about viraha, yet whoever has known love will begin to pass through the feeling of viraha. Know love, and separation comes with it. The deeper the love, the deeper the state of viraha. Viraha means that our true nature—the very core of us—has slipped from our hands; we are not meeting it. Our center has been lost; we spin on the circumference like the bullock tied to the oil press. We experience things, but the Divine is not seen. And that is the master. The master is lost; only the servants are visible. The temple walls are understood, but the deity is not recognized. Yet…